Need You Now
by Taylor Padfoot
Summary: England and America are at it again in another fight, unfortunately this time it seems they won't be able to patch things up. UKxUS Romance/Angst


_**Name**__: I Need You Now_

_**Summary**__: "You're impossible!" shrieked Arthur, his green eyes blazing, "You're such an imbecile! You never use your head, you obviously can't see past your own ego, and I don't even know what I'm doing here with you!" "Believe me, geezer, I don't know either!" "Maybe it'd be better if I just left!" "Maybe it would be!"_

_**Genre**__: Romance/Angst_

_**Author's Note**__: I do not own any character of Hetalia –dang it—because if I did, there would be a lot more shown moments of UKxUS (cause you know that totally happened off camera ;]) This is a UKxUS, so enjoy it or you will be forced by Arthur to sit in Busby's—Russia, what are you doing?_

_Ivan; Sitting?_

_Arthur; O.O NOT AGAIN!_

_Ivan; Anyvay, enjoy ze fiction!_

* * *

"You're impossible!" shrieked Arthur, his dark green eyes blazed, "You're such a damn imbecile! You never use your head, you obviously can't see past your own damn ego, and I don't even know what I'm doing here with you!"

The American opened the door the Briton had slammed in his face, standing in the doorway. For awhile he stood, glaring at the Englishman with as much anger as the other possessed, "Believe me, geezer, I don't know either!"

The two countries stood facing off with the other, their breathing labored with anger. Neither dared to move or speak for what felt ages. Arthur was doing his best to control his rage but Alfred's accusing glare wasn't making it any easier.

"Maybe it'd be better if I just left, is that what you want?" the American hissed, stepping towards the door. His blue eyes held a look, a prayer even, that the Briton would just cave in.

"Maybe it would be!" Arthur replied instead, gesturing to the oak front doors. They had been opened several hours previously to allow the autumn air to circulate in freely. Before, they were an inviting gesture to come and join but now they were an unwanted reminder to leave.

"Go ahead, Alfred, leave like you always do. Who's going to stop you this time? Certainly won't be me. Here," Arthur sneered and threw the America's jacket at him, "I'll even help."

Blue met green for several long moments while one studied the other. Who was going to crack first? It was obvious neither wanted to leave but both were set on being right.

Alfred turned around for a moment and walked into the sitting room and Arthur thought that he'd won at first. A few seconds later though, America became back with his duffel bag thrown over his shoulder and a hard look set on his face. He picked up his jacket with the other hand and leisurely threw it over his shoulder.

Both stood by the door, meeting eyes for what was sure to be the last time.

"Arthur."

"Alfred."

The America paused, looking the shorter man over before snarling, "Don't call me again. Ever."

Arthur looked away, his arms folded tight across his chest as he hissed the words, "That's a promise I can keep, unlike some people."

A nerve struck in Alfred and he raised his hand up to strike the Englishman. Instead he balled it into a fist and stormed out the door. Several long seconds passed until Arthur shut the doors and locked them tight.

~/3~

_Picture perfect memories scattered all around the floor_

_Reaching for the phone cause I can't fight it anymore._

_And I wonder if I ever cross your mind._

_For me it happens all the time._

Somewhere in Washington D.C. Alfred lay wide awake in his bedroom in the pitch darkness. For some reason, he couldn't sleep. In a lazy way, his hand reached for the slim cell phone that sat on his bedside table. He slid the top screen open to see a pair of faces smiling up at him along with the time.

These two things made his stomach clench. First, it was only four in the morning while his internal body clock was insisting it was closer to nine. _Damn GMT, _he grumbled in his head. But while the off-body clock could be remedied by forcing himself to sleep, the picture couldn't go away. Sure, he could delete it or put up a new background but that wouldn't take away the memory.

Last summer, Alfred had dragged Arthur down to Florida (the state) to experience the wonder and amazement that is Walt Disney World. The Briton had been so tight laced about it for the longest time and refused to admit he was having fun. But by the end of the trip, Arthur was having the time of his life. He even consented to go onto Space Mountain and even the awfulness that is Small World. The picture on the phone was a shot of the two of them with their arms wrapped around each other in front of Cinderella's Castle. Arthur had on the Sorcerer's blue hat on while Arthur was adorning a rather patriotic set of ears and both were grinning broadly. Alfred stared at it nostalgically for a moment longer as the picture transitioned (like it did every few minutes) to a nice shot of them sharing a kiss under the fireworks later that same night. It was almost torture to see Arthur (who was probably on his toes) holding the American's face in one hand and initiating their tender embrace.

Alfred felt his whole body twitch angrily and in one motion he chucked the phone at the wall. The phone hit the light switch and ricocheted into a pile. He groaned as the lights flicked on bright, illuminating the entire room. The man groaned heavily, burying his face into his hands. It was inevitable now that he was really awake. For awhile he'd been hoping that the whole thing had been just a dream and in a few moments he'd wake up snuggled beside his British lover.

He let out a growl of frustration and fell backwards onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling. It'd been awhile since he'd been in this position, actually. You see most nights, even when Arthur was here, he spent them in the guest room. It was a ritual: Arthur would kindly object to sleeping with Alfred and make a fuss about sleeping in the guest room, claiming the former to be immodest, but he'd always leave his bedroom door open and cracked. So every night Alfred would slip in and go to sleep in the spot Arthur always left for him.

But now, he was back in his own room and staring up at the ceiling. When he'd first come to this house, he thought the ceiling way too plain and set about fixing it. Now, there was a sizable poster of Superman staring down at him along with a million pictures. The America's stomach tossed as he began to see just how many shots held Arthur's face in them. There was one with his arm around the Brit's shoulders while he looked indignant. One beside that was a picture Arthur hadn't known about where he's sitting reading one of his favorites, The Adventure of Sherlock Holmes. But his favorite was the one to the right which Arthur had taken. It was them in England where he, Alfred, was asleep on Arthur's shoulder on the couch. Arthur had been sneaky about getting the camera out of America's pocket without him noticing. The picture was rather good and the way it was taken, it looked like they were both asleep, cuddled together.

Alfred sat up again and groaned, clutching his fingers into his hair and sticking his face between his knees. Emotions mingled in his mind and all at once he wanted to cry and scream. His whole body was shaking with suppressed sobs and boiling rage. He wanted to call England and curse him out, tell him to go jump off the highest cliff. He also wanted to call and beg him to talk to him again. But his pride wouldn't let him.

"No…" he wiped at the few tears and stood up on his bed. In a fluid movement, he ran his hands across the ceiling and watched the picture flutter to the ground like oblong drops of rain. There was a freeing feeling to watching his memories scatter down to the floor beside the dislodged cell phone battery.

He reached up to separate a new wave when his eyes caught a certain picture. There was a shot of him, Francis, and Arthur at a Christmas party years ago. Well, it was basically him and Arthur with Francis in the background. The Brit's face was a festive shade of red and matched most of the room. His lips were planted against a very satisfied looking Alfred who had sneak-kissed him under the mistletoe. That had been their first real kiss followed by their very first evening alone. He remembered the warm feelings that kissing Arthur always left behind and the shining moment of dominance he'd had in that one kiss. An unwanted smile tried to fix itself on his face. That was something he'd loved about Arthur. Around everyone else, Alfred was expected to be strong, defiant, bold, and always in control. But around Arthur, Alfred allowed himself to be told what to do and let Arthur make the decisions. Sure, there were times Alfred did the exact opposite of what he was told and other times where he snapped at Arthur for being told what to do but there were other moments where it felt so freeing to be the one who didn't have to do anything. Despite what most would think, there were so many times Alfred was more than happy to be the uke and let his—

He snatched the picture off of the wall and calmly walked to the other end of the room where a slowly dying fire was. He took one last look at the expressions: the surprised but delighted Arthur, a triumphant Alfred, and a seething and jealous Francis. He wondered how long after this the Frenchman finally figured out that Matthew had been vying for his attention. Obviously their relationship wasn't working out too well again if Francis had…

Alfred crumpled the picture in his hands and threw it into the fire. A feeling that had been pressing on his shoulders like an unwanted weight lifted and at the same time he felt something break. In one fluid movement, the country collapsed on the floor in a wave of tears.

"Stupid bastard!" he shouted, his body shaking again. His blue eyes swam with tears that just kept coming like the Mississippi River. He felt so many things that he thought his whole body would explode. There was raw anger at both Francis and Arthur for what he saw, annoyance with his brother Matthew for not keeping a tight leash on his own boyfriend, jealousy that Arthur could choose Francis over him, confusion for all the feelings he felt for Arthur and yet the country had yet to affirm his own feelings, and then a sense of loss that he felt without Arthur there to comfort him.

Several long minutes passed and he was almost positive it was five a.m. before the last of the tears dissipated. He quietly sat up and stared into the dying embers and wrapped his arms around his knees.

Arthur was probably happier with him gone, he thought, and the chances that he graced the countries mind were slim and few. Not when he had that stupid Frenchman to keep him warm…

He wiped the back of his hand at his face and whimpered softly and curled down in front of the mantle. In a defeated way, he shut his eyes and whispered, almost unable to hear himself, "I just need you now, Arthur, I really do."

~/3~

_Another shot of whiskey, can't stop looking at the door,_

_Wishing you'd come sweeping in the way you did before._

_And I wonder if I ever cross your mind._

_For me it happens all the time._

Arthur stood on his balcony and stared moodily at the glass of alcohol he held limply in his hands. He felt wasted but he hadn't had a glass of anything strong since Alfred had left.

The Brit raised the first of what promised to be many glasses to his lips and drained the first shot. He turned behind him and poured himself another shot. The world was quiet in his corner of the world. Although it was a around 1:15 in the afternoon, the whole world was in London while he was quietly tucked away in his cottage. After the way Alfred stormed out a few nights ago, he didn't feel comfortable staying alone in the huge house back in London. Sure, he'd done it for centuries before Alfred but he'd gotten so used to it, it was hard to go back.

Arthur took another gulp and refilled it. It was something he didn't drink often, whiskey, being an American beverage and all but it felt symbolic almost. In his mind, he was cutting his romantic ties with his former colony and what better way to do that than with an American drink?

The older country leaned back against the balcony and stared at the amber liquor for the longest time. He gave a derisive laugh and poured it down again. He wasn't even drunk yet but he knew that that wasn't going to happen.

"Damn wanker…" he brooded and set the shot glass down on the table. His head was already spinning and he could tell that it wouldn't be much longer before he couldn't remember his name, let alone the past few days.

He cupped his head in his hands and rested his elbows on the fencing. The past few days had been hell, a simple living hell. It had all started with Francis and Matthew getting in a fight. Then the drunk, French idiot came over and tried to tempt a one-night stand out of the Englishman in his grief. Apparently, Alfred found out about Francis by seeing him leave the house and smelling the Frenchman's cologne on the sheet. Arthur tried to explain that Francis literally walked into the house, and after being denied what he wanted, went into Arthur's room and passed out. But Alfred wouldn't listen and it led to the current fight.

Arthur picked up the shot glass again and poured himself another helping. He was halfway to gulping it down when he heard something at the door and almost jumped for joy. However, he turned to see several of his magical friends at the glass door and disappointment replaced his excitement.

Flying Mint Bunny flew out to join him, perching on the banister. The little rabbit was silent for awhile, staring at the Englishman with concern in her black eyes.

"You know what…?" Arthur slurred a bit. "I think that Alfy's wrong to be mad at me…" he mumbled, using the nickname for Alfred he got when Arthur was drunk. "I-I didn't do anything at all but he… he doesn't know that." He downed another shot and turned again, thinking he heard the door. He was a little drunk, enough to dull his senses, but there was still a great bit of his mind in control.

"You know what, Flying Mint Bunny? I'm better off without him. He… He didn't deserve me, you know? I raised him and I… I took care of him. I was good to him. And I… I…" He set the shot glass down and turned around. "Where's the damn phone?"

The man stumbled into the house, past his magical friends and fell onto the couch. It still smelled faintly of hamburger grease, oak wood, and ash just like Alfred. For several long moment he laid there and breathed in the fabric before he flailed his hand all over the end table until his fingers brushed against a phone.

He clumsily dialed the number on the phone, reached Matthew instead then successfully managed to call Alfred and he sat there listening to it ring once. Voicemail; so his phone was off.

"_Dun dun dun duuuuun! Hey dudes! You've reached the amazing and heroic Alfred F. Jones! Sorry, but I'm not here right now. I'm probably off saving the world or doing something equally amazing so you're gonna_-" "It's going to… Not 'gonna' but going to."_ "-need to leave your name and a message at the beep and I'll try to get back to you! See ya 'round! Alfred signing off! Whoosh!"_

At another time, he might have been grumbling about how stupid this voicemail was. It wasn't supposed to be something frivolous but something plain and simple. Instead Arthur waited a few seconds in silence for the beep then began to slur into the phone, "It's me… It's Arthur. I wanted to call and tell you that… That you're wrong. Yeah… You're completely wrong, Alfy. I've been a loyal boyfriend and this is what I get? A cold… cold shoulder? You know what? I quit! I'm dumping you before you can dump me! So we're through."

Several long moment passed and all of a sudden the tone changed, "Damn it, Alfy." There was a longer silence before he continued, fighting off his slight drunkenness, "This is all your fault. I… I guess I can see where you're coming from but, bloody git, why would I? Francis? The man I can't stand? I've done some stupid things while I was drunk but even that…"

The man ran his fingers through his hair, his words still slurring a bit. But this time something else broke through his serious tone. Tears began to trail down his cheeks, "I know you don't want to talk to me but… Just listen. Alfy? Alfred? I know I said I wouldn't call but I'm a little drunk and I realized something: I love you. I've known it for the longest time and I've never said it, actually, I just didn't want to admit it to myself and then I was afraid you'd run off but... I don't care what you do to me or if you leave me but, I love you. I… I need to you know that… I love you with every part of my heart and soul. Who else can make me react like you do? You excite me, you puzzle me, annoy me, and make me want to kill you sometimes. But, I love you. If this is going to make you happy, letting me go, then by all means. But…" the Briton brushed his tears away with the back of his hand and tried to keep his voice even, "But if there's any part of you that wants to talk, I'm here. No matter what. Anytime. Just… Please reconsider…"

He pulled the phone away from his face and hung up. Several long moments passed in which England just allowed himself to cry pointless into one hand. He couldn't remember crying this much since that day back oh-so-many years ago when America had first distanced himself like that. When it came down to it, America was always the one to make him cry and yet, at the same time, he was the one who could make him laugh like nothing at all.

Tears continued to trace down his face until he felt he couldn't cry any longer. A part of him wanted to try and go up to bed but he was so emotionally spent that he couldn't imagine moving let alone going upstairs to his room. So instead he laid down on the couch and tried to relax his body but his mind was still racing.

What was Alfred doing right now? Was he trying to ignore him? Would he call him back? Was this the end of it? Did he even want to reconsider? Did he miss him right now too?

Arthur ran a hand over his face, trying to stave off a fresh wave of tears. "Damn it, Arthur I miss you. I need you here now…"


End file.
